Follow You in All Things
by ArrangedloveMatch
Summary: England visits his tiny American colony, whom he loves with all of his heart. Fluff happens. Secret Santa gift for Scarlet xx on livejournal


_Follow You in All Things_

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><p>Taking a ship to the Colonies was a very long journey. England loved the sea—he would stand on the deck of the ship, feel the salty sea breeze in his hair, and close his eyes, feeling at peace—and it was only on journeys to America that he would become impatient with it. The Atlantic was a very large barrier that kept him from his American colonies, and from his beautiful golden child; how could such a thing bring him anything but frustration?<p>

America was very young, to be sure, and England hated leaving him alone, all by himself at the mercy of hostile natives and foreign powers. America was capable to get on well enough with England across the ocean, now that he was older and had grown out of his child's gown…but he was still _so_ _very young_. He _needed_ England.

And England missed America desperately. He was not used to loving and caring for something so completely, and being loved and needed in return; oh, how he wanted to hold that child in his arms and never let him go! To shield him from the world and keep him safe and warm, to make him want for nothing!

The moment that the long journey had ended, and England took his first step onto colonial soil (swaying a bit on his feet, expert seaman though he was—good sea legs took some adjusting to land, after all), he felt a great weight lift from his shoulders, and he let out a long breath. He loved this land as his own; it was a part of him.

And of course, the moment that he saw the tiny head of golden hair appear amongst the crowded pier, bobbing towards him, the warmth in his chest expanded and made his heart swell until it would surely burst from his chest. England was not a man predisposed to smile, but smile he did; he smiled with love and knelt down, holding out his arms, and an instant later little America dashed into the waiting embrace.

The little lad was making high pitched noises of happy excitement, clinging to the front of England's heavy coat; England expelled his breath in a soft laugh. "Hello, America," he said fondly, hand coming up to stroke America's golden hair. "Easy, now."

"I missed you," America said, voice muffled in England's coat, and England could not help the rush of affection in his heart.

"And I you, dear child," he said, resting his cheek atop America's mop of yellow hair; he sighed contently. He could hold no one else this way. "My dear child."

America lifted his face, beaming. "I am so glad to see you, England! Are you well? Was the journey amiable? Was—"

England laughed and held up his hand. "Steady on, lad, let me catch my breath!" He straightened America's coat in a few efficient jerks and smoothed his sleeves, glancing up and down. "Now, let me have a look at you."

America stood obediently as England looked him over. He had grown a bit taller, his hair a bit longer; the top of his head probably came up to somewhere around England's hip. He looked healthy and well fed, and was fidgeting terribly; the boy hated standing still and always had.

England smiled and stood. "You have grown a bit," he said. "What a fine young gentleman you are becoming." America beamed with pleasure.

The carriage ride back to America's Boston townhouse was pleasant enough, with the boy jabbering on and on about what he had been doing in England's absence, and about how much he had missed him, and how much he wanted to show him. His boundless energy always took England by surprise, but he could not say that he did not enjoy it. It was…refreshing.

When they arrived, England called for tea and sat with his colony in the parlor. "Do you know how to make tea yourself?" America asked as he watched England pour the tea. "Or do you always have it made for you?"

"Oh yes, I do. And I prefer to do it, actually. It relaxes me." England glanced up as he filled America's cup. "Shall I teach you how?"

America nodded obediently. "I would like that very much."

"Very good, then. Sugar?"

"Two lumps, please," America said, and England smiled at him; the lad did like sweet things.

"You know, one of these days you will be too old for such sweet tea," he said, adding the sugar, but America only made a face.

"Yes, but I am not old yet. And I see you put in extra sugar into _your_ tea sometimes."

England's ears turned pink, and he coughed, deciding that a change of subject was in order. "And how are you lessons?" he inquired, pushing America's cup across the table. "How are your languages?"

"I am learning to read and write in Latin _and_ French!" America said, puffing out his chest proudly, and England raised his eyebrows and made a sound of approval. But the next moment America deflated a bit. "But…I confess that I have trouble with the French."

England laughed. "Well, I cannot be terribly displeased with that, can I?" He leaned closer and whispered, "It is a dastardly language, is it not?"

America giggled, nodding vigorously. "'Tis like speaking with a frog lodged in your throat!"

England laughed again and leaned across the table to kiss the top of America's head. "Delightful child!" he exclaimed. "I could not have described it better myself. Très, très laid, n'est-il pas?"

America recognized the test. "Oui, c'est…très difficile." He furrowed his brow in concentration. His accent was terrible. "Je préfère l'anglais."

England's smiled, swelling with pride. "Of course you do," he kissed the boy again, "and I'll torture you no more. But I am very impressed."

America blushed. "But I do like English better. 'Tis _your_ language, and the most beautiful, I think."

Even after all of this time, England was still unused to being looked at with such love, to be thought of as great and beautiful, to be trusted so freely. He patted America's hair and collected himself, lest he burst into tears like a girl. "I think so, too." He cleared his throat. "Well, now, drink up before your tea gets cold."

They sat without speaking for a time, drinking their tea. "England," America said, breaking the silence, "may I ask you something?"

"Of course, lad."

America fidgeted a little. "Well…I was wondering if you would, that is, if you might…" He bit his lip. "Will you teach me to ride, England? Please?"

England set down his cup with a soft clink. "Ride a horse? Aren't you a bit young?"

"No." America puffed out his cheeks. "I am big enough. I'm not afraid." He clasped his hands together. "Please, England? I want to learn so badly! I see you riding your horse and it…it looks so wonderful! To be up so high, and to run so fast! It must be like flying. Oh please, I'll never ask for another thing for as long as I live!"

"Oh, I doubt that." England studied the boy for a long moment, doing his best not to succumb to the very large blue eyes. At long last, he sighed. "Very well, I will let you ride with me. But," he raised his voice over America's cheer, "as to whether you may ride on your own anytime in the near future, I make no promises. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." America, giddy with excitement, jumped out of his chair and threw his arms around England. "Oh, thank you, thank you!"

"Oh come now, don't make a scene," England snapped, but stroked America's hair affectionately, unable to hold back his smile. "Now, finish your tea, and we will see about giving you a ride."

England had never seen America drink so fast, and the boy was out of his chair and out the door in a flash, halfway to the stable before England could even shout "America, slow down!" after him.

England eventually made his way to the stable, where America was already patting England's bay gelding, speaking softly to him. England could not help the jolt of worry and fear in his stomach, although the horse was a very gentle beast, and god knows that America could handle himself around large animals. England knew these things, but still, seeing the tiny boy in such close proximity to a large creature, showing no fear at all, made him feel very worried and a little bit sick. He couldn't help it. He had never had someone to protect before.

By the time he had saddled the horse, he was rethinking his decision. The lad was rather small, certainly he could wait a bit longer; once atop the horse, he would surely be frightened by such a height. But he looked down at America, and America looked back up at him with big blue eyes that were hopeful and eager, and he sighed in defeat. He swung himself onto the horse's back and scooped America up, setting the boy in front of him on the saddle. America let out a squeal of delight.

England wrapped an arm around America and held the reins with his free hand. "Hold onto me," he said. "I won't have you flying off." He clicked his tongue and nudged the horse with his legs, and they trotted out onto the street; America laughed with gleeful abandon.

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><p>That night, England went into America's room to say goodnight, and found the boy wide awake. "May I ride with you again?" he asked, before England even had a chance to open his mouth. "Tomorrow? Please, may I? And may we go faster?"<p>

England frowned at him, or tried to. "I will think about it." He sat down on the bed, raising a brow. "I do not see a sleepy boy in this bed."

America shook his head, smiling from ear to ear. "No, not 'tall!"

"Tell me, why was riding a horse so exciting for you?"

"Well…" America closed his eyes and thought for a moment. "It was exciting because it made me feel big. Sitting on the saddle, I mean. And I still think that…that galloping could be like flying." He opened his eyes and smiled. "And also, it was something that you taught me. Are teaching me. It's special!"

England smiled. "Is it, now?"

"Yes." America scooted closer and laid his head on England's shoulder. "I miss you when you're away, England. I always want to learn from you, and follow you in all things."

England swallowed hard, feeling that swelling love once more. "Dear child," he whispered, laying his cheek on America's hair. "I will teach you all that I know. And care for you in all things."

And then America yawned widely, trying to stifle it with his hand; England noticed, of course, and smiled. "Well, now I see a sleepy boy."

"Not sleepy," America protested, but his eyes were drooping, and he lay down on his pillows without much complaint. He yawned again and said, "Will you be here in the morning?"

"Of course," England's voice was soft with affection. He stood to go, but America's voice stopped him.

"Will you sing to me?"

England sat back own and brushed America's cheek with the back of his hand. "Soft the drowsy hours are creeping," he began, voice gentle and lulling, "Hill and vale in slumber sleeping, I my loving vigil keeping, all through the night…"

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><p>French:<br>**Très, très laid, n'est-il pas?**: Very, very ugly, isn't it?  
><strong>Oui, c'est très difficile<strong>: Yes, it's very difficult.  
><strong>Je préfère l'anglais<strong>: I prefer English.

England is singing "All Through the Night," which admittedly was printed in 1784, but I imagine it was around before then.


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